Dragon's Choice
by Rue McCrae
Summary: Someone had meddled, thinking to avenge age-old wrongs. Instead, the ensuing war would bring bloody deaths to thousands on both sides. Previously named Chosen By Dragons. UPDATED 13/2/10.
1. Wrath

_Someone had meddled, thinking to avenge age-old wrongs. Instead, the ensuing war would bring bloody deaths to thousands on both sides. Could the son of Kiroth's most bitter enemies restore the natural balance to Pern?_

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_**Chapter One**_

The air was full of the acrid smell of brimstone, coloured grey by the falling ash from the vicious battle raging around them. The dragons, their massive shadows streaking across the ground below them, were wreaking revenge. Bloodlust gleamed in the Queen's eyes as she marshalled her clan, snapping an order to her general.

_Jased, take a flight of the bronzes to the southern face of the Weyr. Krikan will take the other flight, and the rest will fly under my wings. _The look in her eyes was grim. _These humans will pay for the blood of my offspring. _She caught the faint impression from Jased's mind that there wasn't a single dragon in the history of wild dragon lore not of her line, and though faintly amused, she reprimanded him sharply. _This isn't the time for cheeking your dam, _she reminded him sharply, and the mature bronze wheeled gracefully to do her bidding with only a passing statement flashing through her mind.

_Yes, Kiroth. _

She snorted in irritation, and bellowed out to her clan, swooping in golden splendour down on the amassing crowds below. _Pathetic creatures, _she thought derisively, sending a magnificent blaze of angry fire straight into the buildings. The stone halls erupted from the inside, tongues of flame leaping out to lick hungrily at the unforgiving rock as though it could be devoured. Kiroth approved of their intensity, a look of steel in her gaze. Children and adults alike would die. _There's no room for pity, _she told herself sharply as a pang of that exact sentiment resounded loudly in her dragon heart, _not when they will simply grow to be murderers exactly like their sires. _

She well remembered the panic she had smelled from the entire arena at her hatching, all those long Turns ago, when she and all the others from her clutch had simply snatched the meat from the sandy floor and bulleted into flight, unnaturally strong for their age. Oh yes. She truly remembered their fear of something they hadn't experienced before, and then, the Turns of hiding before she reached her maturity, hiding because of the danger from the humans - the ones who sought to kill her. She was the only one left.

Something had given her unnaturally long life. Those who had hatched along with her had fallen to the ravages of age, growing old, and she had remained vibrant, energetic - seemingly young - yet growing larger and stronger with every passing year. She had recognised her purpose quickly - and now knew, with some satisfaction, that the entirety of dragon kind was of her line. Her mate had died only the previous Turn, a victim of the humans' cruel whim when he sought to protect a young clan of dragons who were only three Turns old - and had been slain with them. She grieved him still. He alone had been the last link with her past, having hatched only moments before her. The other queens had died long ago, but he - Hasath - had been her mate, her one lifelong love.

And she had lost him. She threw herself into the battle with renewed vigour, expertly dodging the deadly weapons thrown at her, and heard in satisfaction the murmurs as the condemned weyrlings realised whom they were battling with. She knew what they whispered about her. She was just glad that, in their final, pathetic moments, they recognised their angel of death.

Dragon Mother. A demon clad in golden hide.

* * *

"Hasan!" Jamila shrieked, choking on the thick black smoke. "Hasan!" Her weyrmate vaulted through the acrid screen, clutching a sturdy child to his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, soothing her with his presence, before hurriedly depositing their son into her arms. The message was clear in his eyes - _Run. _She heard rather than saw the black shadow swoop over her as Hasan threw himself to the ground, his body a protective shield amongst the wreckage.

_Intense heat._ Flames broiling around her body, licking her bare skin into shudders of agony as she pressed herself and the boy into the earth to the near point of suffocation. The pain drew a long, despairing scream from her as it threatened to consume her, but she understood, though barely, when the red inferno was gone, that it was time to get away from here. Jamila glanced but once at the blackened corpse of her spouse, whose last action had been a desperate act of protection, and broke into a stumbling run, despite the horrific burns that had stripped her of hair and clothes, and live skin.

She ran, not caring that sharp splinters of wood added to the throbbing pain in her body, which was slowly decreasing, slowly stopping. There was only one thought that echoed in the woman's mind as she tripped through the wreckage towards the lake, gripping her son to her body.

_Run._

* * *

Kiroth felt a weary triumph as the flames from the ruined buildings subsided into blackened ashes, spiralling smoke sending a message of victory into the sky. The one hundred and seventy-two inhabitants of the small village on the hillside were dead. _Life for life, _Kiroth thought sadly. _We chose this village because that is how many of my sons and daughters were killed and roasted on your fires. _Her eyes hooded in disgust. _We do not eat you, O shameless spawn of Pern. We choose for our prey things that will sate our appetites - but you, scrawny kind that you are, would only give us bellyache. _Her claws, blackened from the grime of battle and smeared with blood, were a grim sight indeed. She looked up, away from the wreckage. Those among the dead were not just men - there were also the corpses of dragons, still and graceful even in death. A great exhale of breath escaped through the mighty Queen's jaws.

_Aí, and I would give you a better fate than this, my children, _she mourned softly. _But I can do no more than seek revenge for the crimes against us. _She called her general, Jased, and told him to see that the clan got back to the caves safely. _I would be alone - for a while._ His respectful neck-baring - showing the soft, vulnerable folds of skin under his jaw - comforted her somewhat. She spread her awe-inspiring wingspan and lifted effortlessly into the air, seeking water. Water, to wash away the guilt of slaying children.

Even if they were the spawn of evil men.

She felt the angry roll of fire in her belly begin to subside, leaving her with the emptiness that a battle always did. She laughed at herself. _I still find it disorienting, even after all these Turns. _A sharp, clean smell came to her as the breeze lifted, and she felt a sudden lift in her chest. Water - a collecting of it, quite a large one, was lying nearby. Quite large enough for the Dragon Mother to have a bath in. She could have flown back to the valley, but she needed to be alone. Kiroth spotted a thick line of low-lying trees on the horizon, and headed towards it, already revelling in the thought of fresh, cool water on her hide.

The mirror-like surface of the lake was disturbed as the Queen plunged in, diving deep into the murky depths until she felt the need for the air that had been battered out of her in her wild, headlong fall. Kiroth used her golden wings to push strongly up into the day, and then settled in the shallows, shaking herself with an abandon she would not have used had she not been alone. The water dripped from her head as she raised her muzzle to the setting star, which shattered the fat drops into rainbow beads. She blinked, slowly and contentedly, letting each of the several eyelids close before opening them to reveal slowly whirling blue and green eyes.

Which latched onto a currently awe-struck toddler who stood at the side of the lake. Kiroth was so taken aback at this unexpected image that she stumbled backwards, landing in the depths of the water in a comical tangle of wings and claws. A childish chuckle erupted, rolling pleasurably into the dragon's ears, and her massive head whipped with surprising speed towards the sight of a dirty, tear-stained face that was glowing with the belief that this show was for his enjoyment alone.

She snorted, yellow-tinted eyes showing her concern. What should she do? Her fire was definitely not completely gone - indeed, a spark had lit in her cavernous chest, much too willing to be freed in a glorious, liquid spout - but why was he here? Her curiosity could not be ignored. Here was a child - completely unafraid - who was laughing at a creature more than thirty-three times his pathetic count of Turns, and who possessed the ability to render the Dragon Mother helpless to do anything other than - watch.

_Think objectively! _she roared inside, angry at her lack of judgement. A sudden pain emanated from somewhere close, and Kiroth, bewildered, heard the human child utter a hurt-filled cry, his features crumpling as a babe is wont to do when he has heard a loud noise. _But, _the Queen wondered, _how could he hear me? _A sudden recollection came to her - voices outside her egg, speaking of a woman who could hear dragons - a human. Still puzzled, she lumbered close to the boy, and stooped low to look into his large brown eyes. _Can you hear me? _she thought slowly, projecting her mind-speak towards him. A look of almost pathetic relief shone in his eyes, before a torrent of thoughts, all tangled and unordered, rushed towards her like the flow of a river.

_Come to take care of me? Mati said - but Mati can't move, why can't she move? She's all sleepy and hurt - can't hear me when I talk to her - too hot, my arm hurts - why can't Mati move? Where's Pati? Too much noise - why has everyone gone away? - flying - like you? _His eyes widened in surprise and shock, and he stumbled to the ground, confusion in his small mind. _So much fire - Jemil is gone - _Kiroth caught an impression of a huge, bearlike hound, with fur good to pull on - _why isn't anyone here? Mati can't talk - Mati! _The dragon saw an image, distorted through human sight, of a woman with caring hands and a soft voice - made harsh by fire and smoke. She was taken aback by the image of the still woman on the ground, her hurt body finally cold in death.

_Dead? _

Kiroth cursed, irritated. The word had been picked up by the injured, dirty little boy in front of her head, but he was confused - had no concept of its meaning. The Queen was at a loss for what to do. The child - she was positive, even with her limited experience of men, that he could barely be three Turns old - would not survive past the sevenday without a dam to take care of him. Possibly even shorter. It was one thing to kill a child during battle, but quite another to leave it to the mercy of nature, which certainly wouldn't be kind.

She felt a sudden pressure against her claw, and looked down, snorting. The twin puffs of cold, grey smoke enveloped the child who had suddenly curled up against the gargantuan arm, which he could liken more to a tree trunk than anything else, and was gradually subsiding into comfortable slumber, despite the burned arm he sported. He was a - a picture of innocence, she realised, looking at the sooty eyelashes, probably coloured by the grime of the day, which curled against his soft cheek. Something that she hadn't encountered in many, many Turns. Her foreclaw slowly, hesitantly curled around the sleeping child, and as tenderly as she could she brought him to her chest.

_Perhaps if we look after him until we find him some humans to take care of him. _Satisfied with that notion, and masterfully ignoring the unhelpful, slightly sadistic thought that she was becoming soft, Kiroth spread her wings and lifted into the air as gently as she could, to not disturb her sleeping charge. The Queen was unaware that she was bringing much more back with her than an object of pity.

_I suppose we must have a name for him, _she thought ironically. But she was not experienced with naming, as her offspring hatched from the egg knowing their own name. _It seems much more simple when they __**tell**__ you what to call them, _she mused. _Otherwise the chore of naming twenty dragonets a Hatching would have stretched my imagination to the limits._

As if he had heard her, the tiny boy clutched to her chest shifted, and murmured sleepily, with a slight scowl in his dark eyes, _M'name's Ronan. Oo won't forget, will you? _Thus instructed, Kiroth found a tiny slither of amusement in her heart.

_I don't know that I would dare to, boy. _Her eyes narrowed, not entirely in fun. _However, I am the Queen Kiroth, Dragon Mother of Pern. _Supremely unconcerned, Ronan curled his small fist and inserted his dirty thumb into his red mouth.

_Must be nice, being a queen, _his sleepy mind muttered. His thoughts trailed off, and he was slumbering in her mighty claws. Heading towards the clan valley, Kiroth allowed her bemused emotions to surface in her mind. Huge eyes glinted at the stars, which winked back at her, as though they held the answer that she sought after. If she could have, the Dragon Mother would have pursed her lips.

_I suppose I shall have to stay ignorant, then? _she posed to the cold gems above her scaly head. She received no answer, as she had expected. But as she determinedly pointed her great muzzle home, the feeling that the Red Star, which seemed cold and distant at night, was laughing at her grew too much to ignore.

So, being a highly respected Queen, known for her supreme wisdom in matters such as these, she opened her jaws in a grim smile.

And laughed back.

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_Despite the fact that it's been a long time since I posted this chapter, I still appreciate reviews on it. Enjoy the next update!_


	2. Broken

_**Author's (rather gratified – and sheepish) note: **_My thanks to the reviewers who took time to write down what they really thought. Honesty can be better appreciated than many compliments (although they are gratifying). If you don't want to read this bit, please skip this note and move straight to the story.

Anyway, I first wanted to address, with some apology, the readers who had to put up with my ignorance of Pern. Though it may sound stupid, simple and idiotic, I had not researched thoroughly a world which I was prepared to write fanfiction about. Hopefully, I have now remedied that a little (although there is to come in this chapter something which is completely AU, because Anne McCaffrey clearly states that a dragon cannot survive unImpressed, nor can they be separated from their bond). So fired up with visions of such graceful beasts as Anne McCaffrey's words inspired within me that I rushed off to write a chapter without thinking. (An inexcusable crime, and one I shan't commit again.)

To try and give (or rather make up an excuse for the names of dragons in the first chappie really quickly), I think my line of thinking will be thus: To show the complete isolation from bondage with the Pernese, all of Kiroth's offspring will not follow the trend of –th at the end of their names, although Kiroth and others of her clutch (who are now all dead), including her mate, Hasath, will end in –th, to show the tenuous link formed at their Hatching in the arena.

I am also sorry for not making clear that this is not in keeping with any of Anne McCaffrey's works: i.e. that it is indeed both AU and non-canon. Although the inspiration is purely from the literary kingdom she has created, the characters are my own. To put this disclaimer more briefly:

Anne McCaffrey owns everything.

'K?

Ah, now that my oh-so-eloquent apology (pfft) is finished, please ignore my delightfully boring words and… on with the story!

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_**Chosen by Dragons: Part Two**_

_Heat. _It is so hot, so stifling inside this black shell. She is so impatient to break free – to struggle forth from what has so long _squashed_ her and cramped her. Unfamiliar hands have touched the sensitive egg-shell so many times that she wants to snap at them, to wrench herself free from their confounded fumbling and nonsensical speech. Their mumbling makes no sense – it hurts her ears. _Mother stop them stop them speaking stop it - MOTHER!_

She can hear a humming – a low, loud drone that buzzes in her ears and thrums through the sand beneath her, making her haunches vibrate and her tail wish for more room so that she can _whip _it, whip it around and thrash that sand into a whirlwind, because she is so ANGRY – so angry her jaws ache from keeping them shut because she can't move inside this cramped space.

Her head begins to butt the eggshell with frightening intensity. Again and again she feels it buckle beneath her onslaught, but it isn't enough, and she can't get free. _What can she use?_

There is a painful, gnawing ache in the top of her jaw, and suddenly she plunges into the hard, sticky membrane around her, tackling it, worrying it – tearing it. YES. This is it, it's working. She can glimpse a beautiful – oh what can you call that sort of shade? – it is in the Up, she knows that, and suddenly her newly-freed, glistening wings want to stretch, stretch and fly into that glorious Up.

Eager, clumsy claws. They must belong to herself, she realises in surprise. She stumbles across the sands. _Too hot, too hot. _She hears the hungry creeling of so many others around her – others like her, her eggmates! They know what she feels – they must do! Her angry screech rents the air with ferocity. It's a command. Her golden skin is becoming more brilliant as the _hot _dries it.

And suddenly, she feels like she's in the egg again, small and insignificant, because there's a girl – a weakling human – in these busy, _loud _ones – who's looking at her. And her gaze seems so familiar, like she's known her before. Like that tugging in her gut is what's calling to her, what's making her cry to that weakling girl that her name is _Kiroth _– and that she – her rider! – can feel the _cool _if she comes with her, comes into the Up. But there are angry voices, and now urgent hands are tugging at her so that she can turn around.

Suddenly she feels scared. Too many people. Too many noisy ones. She has to go. Her sudden, tragic scream speaks of loneliness as she tears herself away. _Mirrol, _she's crying, _come with me! You __**have **__to, YOU HAVE TO! _And though the girl has _wet _on her cheeks, she can't get to her, and that voice that speaks to her is crying too.

_I can't, Kiroth, I can't. I can't walk, my darling one, I can't walk! I'm not supposed to, I'm not allowed to – I – Kiroth!_

The cry is cut short in anguish as a man – a big, loud one in black – cuffs her Mine into Between. And she's so angry, because her Mirrol isn't there, and she can't feel her because she's sleeping. And it's because of _that man_. The wings, abnormally large and graceful, beat the air as the furious Queen throws up her glittering head. Her mental voice is so loud that everyone in the hatching grounds can hear.

_MIRROL! _Her breath is coming in great, billowing gasps, and her tail thrashes the sand. _DIRTY! YOU NOISY ONES – NEVER STOPPING, NEVER RESTING. ALWAYS SO __**LOUD**__! Can't stop it, can't stop it. _Her mental voice subsides to a whimper, but the anguish still makes many flinch. _Oh, Mirrol, where are you? Why aren't you __**here**_ Her crimson gaze rests on that man, that noisy one, the one who hurt her Mine. And she knows that her eggmates are behind her, that they are ignoring everyone else, and that they know no other but her.

Her breath is rasping. She takes a desperate, agonized look at her Mine, who still breathes, but now the need to fly into the Up is consuming her. She feels like she will suffocate, because she's drowning on the ground, in this _sand, _and every one of those noisy ones is just _looking _at her, and she can't stop. And she knows that she can't do this if her Mine isn't sleeping. Savagely, with a jerk of her ferocious and yet wildly beautiful head, Kiroth feels her heart breaking. It's breaking it's breaking it's tearing and ripping and –

And tendril by tendril, thought by thought, minds that have been melded together so irrevocably, so tenderly, are being brutally separated. She can't feel anything but this _pain_, this horrific pain that thunders against her chest and makes her head pound. And in one, split second, as their last thought is severed, she screams

_Mirrol!_

It's enough. The girl wakes up and looks at her, and suddenly she's dragging herself from her seat and falling onto the sands, not caring about the heat that burns and blisters her soft skin, because she has to get to her Mine, and Kiroth can feel her pain, that terrible agony that is in her _soul_ –

And then she feels nothing. The world is silent. She does not hear Mirrol's voice, the voice that makes her want to stay. She's done it. Driven by instinct, she shrieks a command to her eggmates, her brothers and sisters, and spreads a wingspan that dwarfs her infantile body. And now she's gliding into the Up, and she does not hear her dam's commands to _come back now, _because dragons _have _to have a Mine, but she's revelling in the _cool_, the wind, and she knows that her mate is next to her because he's stronger than the others and his name is Hasath and that one day they'll love and know and mate and –

* * *

Kiroth woke up. The boy did as well, shifting beside her with a great yawn that split his small face and displayed a few white teeth against grimy cheeks. She suddenly remembered the day before: the battle, the deaths – the boy.

_Not a __**boy, **_the human scowled. _I'm __**Ronan. **_

_His face is so expressive_, Kiroth mused. _I wonder if they grow out of it?_

The boy was confused, she noted, feeling once more the torrent of confused thoughts that were directed nowhere, everywhere. She eyed, with a pang of – was it _consternation_? – the angry red weals upon his chubby forelegs, but especially the great burn that still pulsed on his right one. He looked so delicate.

The human definitely understood _that. _

"I'm a big boy!" he shouted tearfully. "I'm not little! I'm STRONG like Pati." His noisy sobs racked his body as he tried to run away. A quick swipe of a gargantuan claw sent him tumbling (rather more roughly than she had intended) against a wall.

_Do not __**PRESUME **__to have a temper tantrum with me, _the dragoness thundered. He glowered at her, his little body shivering from the coolness of the cave they had slept in. The sun was not yet up in the sky, and the horizon was smudged a dirty grey from the early dawn. All the child had was a smock turned ragged by fire and grime on his scrawny hide, the dragoness thought, and cocked her great head on one side.

He was her enemy – this tiny little child – but she knew so little about him. Her hot, acrid breath swept over his face, and his shiny eyes blinked. Then, once more, he laughed, his little chest heaving with each chuckle that bubbled from it.

"Ki-kirrofhh," he gasped between giggles. The Queen's eyes snapped in irritation at the mangled form of her name.

_Kiroth, _she corrected sternly.

_Kee-roff, _he repeated solemnly. She said it to him again, exasperated, but it seemed that this undignified address was a compromise, and the little one would change no more. And then, suddenly, from nowhere, it seemed, a rumble emanated, growling in the air. Kiroth's finely moulded muzzle whipped up, seeking the dragon that it must have come from – but there was none, except the boy, who sported a rather sheepish expression.

_That was __**you**__?! s_he exclaimed in amazement. But how could such a small creature make such an extraordinarily _loud_ noise?

"'M hungry," he explained, reverting to the human-speak that she found so difficult to understand. It was so – so rough around the edges, so insensitive. It couldn't compare to mind-speak. _So why_, the dragoness wondered, _don't they speak telepathically?_

_Hungry? _She asked again. Then it hit her, forcefully. What on earth was she going to feed it?

They emerged from the cave some time later, when the sun was approaching its zenith in an absolutely lovely blue sky. Kiroth's frustration was evident in the snapping yellow streaks in her quickly whirling eyes, and the boy was still hungry. He had refused, out of all reason, the fresh meat from the tunnel snake she had quickly killed (while it was still warm!), and when she had finally asked what he _did _want, his stubborn answer had been _berries. _Berries, of all things. At this time of year, too.

Besides, why would a dragon – a carnivore – know where to find _berries_?

Their slow walk, due to the boy's short, chubby legs, and the fact that the Queen was not nearly as graceful on land as she could be in the air, her natural element, brought them through the valley to a small gathering of water in a rocky hollow, and a few hardy bushes sparsely covered with berries. The berries, though only small in number, were fat with juice, and there were enough for a child who barely numbered three Turns. His cheeks were soon stained purple, as were his hands, and Kiroth was struck that humans, like dragons, probably liked to be clean, or were made to, if they didn't voluntarily.

_You need a clean, _she told him severely. The sudden panic in the baby's eyes informed her that he knew _exactly _what that meant.

_Don't need a baff, _he said stoutly, while he tried, unsuccessfully, to hide his grubby hands behind his back.

_Do too, _came the stern reply.

_DON'T, _he shouted. The Queen's eyes narrowed.

_I don't see why I'm even arguing on this point. You __**will**__ have a bath. _

The next thirty seconds saw a violently protesting infant flung into the water, which conveniently was more of a puddle than a pond. The child, gasping for breath, managed to look indignantly back at his guardian.

_Wash, _the dragoness instructed. _Now._

_Mati always washed me, _the child replied smugly. _Don't know how._

Kiroth glanced at her claws, which were larger than his entire body and large enough to cradle a runner. They ended in talons the width of his arm and sharper than her teeth. Certainly not the gentle hands of a mother.

_Perhaps it's time you learnt, boy, _she said wryly. The babe squirmed under her gaze, and tentatively scrubbed at his cheeks with his fists. Kiroth snorted. _You're not coming out of that water until you're clean._

As it is, berry juice takes a long time to come out without the aid of soapsand or washroot. Ronan spent a miserable hour splashing the cold water over himself and trying, as best he could, to wash the tangled curls atop his small head, and reducing the great purple stains to faint smudges.

_Alright, _the dragon mother said gruffly after a while of watching him. _Come here._ The sodden toddler stood, shivering, in front of her, not meeting her eyes. On realising he was cold, and that he wouldn't take kindly to being told to fly for a while to dry off, Kiroth snorted hot breath over him, trying carefully not to burn him with her heat. Even so, the tiny infant winced once or twice. Then he smiled at her, as though, now that he was fed and dry, he forgave her everything.

Kiroth, who had been trying to prevent her return to the clan as long as possible, shook her great head. It was time to find a village or settlement – perhaps even a Hold – that would take care of her dragon child.

_A dragon mother is no fit mother for a three Turn old human,_ she reminded herself sharply. When called, Ronan sat comfortably between her upturned talons and clutched grimly on, with a grin on his face that said he would enjoy flying again.

_Are we going to see mati and pati now? _was his tired question, and Kiroth caught the impression of a warm fireplace and his favourite stew. The child was tired again, she realised.

_No, _she said as gently, but as firmly as possible. The child wriggled his discomfort, and she sternly adjured him to keep still while she spread her wings. The great, glittering wingspan shadowed the earth as, with a mighty heave, she launched into the air. _Mati and pati, _she tried to explain carefully, as the wind whipped past them, _cannot look after you anymore. They're dead._

_Dead?_

_Deceased. Killed. Dead. The point is, _she continued frankly, _that they're not coming back. You must learn to live with that. You're strong. You can do this._

_So who's going to – to look after me? _was the pitiful question posed, and it sounded so pathetic that the dragon mother felt her heart break.

_I don't know. Not yet, anyway – Ronan._

And with that, they flew westward.

* * *

Well, what did you think? I know I said in the last chapter that the dragons didn't Impress. :chuckles: I lied. I also know that it's impossible for dragons to break their bond. It would drive them insane, probably, as it would their rider.

Erm, I hide behind my rather pitiful shield of stating that this is AU.

Ah, the plot thickens. Such a sweet, irritating, child. Is the Dragon Mother becoming fonder than she should? Please ponder and review. I like reviews. They make me happy.

- Colour Me Stunned


	3. Fool

I'll quickly take a moment to disclaim.

Disclaimer: I disclaim.

Being serious though, I own nothing, nada, zilch, nowt of Anne McCaffrey's remarkable world. I aspire to write fanfiction because I enjoyed her world so much, and I do not apologise for the AU-ness of this story. However, I do apologise for writing that dragons have scales (that has been rectified). The other things will be explained in the chapters to come.

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Chapter Three

Kiroth's strong wingbeat faltered as the air grew thick with a deadly hail of lances. Slim, light, but barbed with a cruel iron head sharp enough to pierce dragonhide, the rain of weapons was no light matter. The dragon mother's roar of pain as one speared her haunch, and her wrathful cry as another lacerated her wing prompted a cry of triumph from the Holders who were assembled at the doorway of the fortress they had built in the caves of the Western coast.

_Why did I allow myself to be caught in this situation? _Kiroth demanded of herself, her mind thick with pain as the lances found their mark again and again. She shook her head, and lifted her gargantuan body higher into the air in an effort to rid herself of the ridiculous little weapons. Although they hurt, they were certainly not enough to kill _her _unless by some miracle the clumsy little two-legged creatures below actually had an aim about them, in company to their true lack of judgement.

A cry of dismay distracted her long enough for a slender pike to slice through the slender barb at the end of her tail. Irritated, Kiroth swung around and clamped the pathetic piece of wood and iron in her jaws, and shattered it between her teeth. Eyes bleeding crimson, she made an impromptu landing on the flats, partially concealed by the mists of the early morning. Grimly, she recognised that it would not be for long. She had never borne her burnished hide to be dirty, except in the necessity of battle, and the rising sun was melting the obscuring cloud and lighting up her golden skin in all of its glory.

If she had been a human, she might have cursed. As it was, her irritation was conveyed in the angry, continuous flicking of her wounded tail, and the whirling scarlet of her large eyes, much likeable to an annoyed feline. A very large, vicious, and highly dangerous feline.

_Ridiculous watch wher. _As it was, if the holders who made their home inside the seaside hold had not been so prepared at the warning bugle of the silly creature, she would have been long gone - a golden glint on the brightening skyline. _Between _would have been a viable option, she realised now, and if a young dragon had been so occupied with battle as to forget the one failsafe of a cornered dragon, she would have had his or her hide. But with her tail wounded, the ability to direct her flight and to travel to a particular place was gone. And now that she had landed, that choice was void anyway.

_A ridiculous folly, _she decided angrily. Nearly eleven cycles of the moon had passed since she had deposited a sleeping Ronan on the flats, where the morning foragers would find him. She had studied the Hold for days so as to know which path they would most likely choose. It had taken hours to coax the tiny child to sleep.

But try as she might, even as she had blinked _between _that day, Kiroth had not been able to forget the infant's despairing wails as he realised she had abandoned him. So, thus had begun a routine for her. At least once in the moon's cycle, she had come close to the seaside Hold and concentrated on finding the tiny child's thoughts. It hadn't been an easy task, amongst the medley and confusion of these ridiculous beings' minds, but she had come to realise that he was fairly content. Today was to have been the last time that she came to the Hold, but her arrival had been ill-timed. She had emerged from the cold of _between _to be immediately sensed by the rousing watch wher, which had immediately informed its bonded.

Now, her nostrils flared as the sounds of her pursuers reached her acute ears.

Dawn was breaking, and with it, the mists melted away completely. In all her golden glory, Kiroth was revealed, her burnished hide challenging the sun in the depth of its golden shade. She rose against the skyline, the largest dragon of all time.

The pursuing holders drew back as one as she opened her jaws and roared.

Inside the Hold, battling with the other younglings for a place at the narrow slits in the broad face of the cliff, Ronan recognised that roar. Warmth. So many days of being warm and secure flooded his consciousness, and he found himself stumbling for the Hold doors as they began to grind together. He slipped through them with dexterity surprising for one so generally clumsy.

"Hoi!" Shendon, the doorkeeper, cried out in alarm. "Boy, get back in here!"

Even if Ronan heard, he didn't care. All he knew was the gargantuan glory of the dragoness who had claimed him once, more than a Turn ago, to be her child. She didn't know it yet. Ronan did. And as he ran, his plaintive cry grew louder and louder, growing in crescendo to a hoarse holler that resounded through the air.

"Kee-roff!" Her name. His mother's name. A mother that, despite being clad in a huge and rather tough hide of gold, and with claws that certainly weren't gentle, was still the one who he had longed for most in eleven months. Having spent so many months with her, he wasn't likely to forget that roar.

"KEE-ROFF!" Those in the crowd of Holders nearing the dragoness had not yet flung their spears, too awed to even think of battling such a wrathful dragon of such size. Some at the back of the mob had heard the five-Turn-old. Only a few recognised him. The shy infant that Meera had taken in. But there was no resemblance in this running, tumbling, glowing child to the quiet boy who had so silently slipped into Hold life. "KEE-ROFF!"

And she heard him. Turning, with an anxious roar that could only be identified as seemingly vicious, her crimson gaze fell upon the boy, who by now was being ushered back to the Hold. A man holding a lance in his burly arms shouted in alarm at the sight of a tiny toddler being out on the flats, when there was a massive dragoness in front of them, and when battle was imminent.

"Get that child back inside those walls!" Dorik, the master holder, yelled. Jerrum sighed at the thought of being excluded from battle, and hefted the wriggling, hissing, scratching child into his inescapable grip.

"C'mon, yer stoopid kid," he grunted, closing his eyes briefly in pain as Ronan's ankle kicked him in the stomach.

"Not _stoopid,_" the child growled fiercely. "M'name's _Ronan!_ And don't oo fergit it!"

And with that, his clumsily flailing legs caught Jerrum in the crotch with some force.

"Oomph," he cringed, bending in pain, and reflexively freeing the child. Ronan resumed his headlong rush towards Kiroth just as Jerrum turned round, watering eyes blurring his vision. But he had the presence of mind to realise that the child was running towards a creature that was almost certain to snap him up in a mouthful, and was horrified. With children of his own, he could only imagine what it would be like to lose a son in that way.

His arm tensed, drew back, and released the spear he had been holding. It flew, the sun turning it into a silhouette against the brightening sky.

It flew, a testament to the belief that a dragon could never want to protect a tiny child.

But as other lances, prompted by the first, began to fly, its descent was altered slightly. Whether it was the wind, or the proximity of the weapons as they flew through the air, Jerrum was never to know. But in the next few moments, it found its mark with a silent thud. Its victim, however, was far from silent. Ronan's wail of agony rent the air, and Kiroth swooped upon him amid the wrathful cries of the Holders.

Her gigantic jaws plucked the spear from his foot, and crushed it in a powerful blow. His sobs did not abate however, and at the crunch of splintering wood, the Holders, who were keeping their distance from the mighty dragon, could only suspect what had happened.

"She's killed 'im!" one gasped. Cries of anger pierced the air, and a red mist began to descend over those present. For however misguided these men were, none would allow an innocent child to be slaughtered, no matter who it was. Their previous hesitance forgotten, the attack resumed, sending another lethal shower of the lances upon Kiroth and her charge. With a loud roar, she clenched Ronan in one claw, and rose into the air.

To go _between _was dangerous, but to stay would be fatal.

She blinked into the cold nothingness of between.

_One._

_Two._

_Three._

_..._

_..._

_Seven._

_Eight._

_Nine._

_Ten -_

* * *

Cliffhanger!

Sorry I took so long to update. The best of intentions doesn't always couple with a sense of urgency.

With thanks to the amazing reviews of my ... well, reviewers. You're fantastic and I'm chuffed out of my pyjamas to be the recipient of nearly one hundred and twenty hits.

Wow.

Then again, when you've been left to stew like this for so long without a new chapter, I'm not surprised people didn't want to review (apart from the sensational reviewers who did, of course). However, I've had a brainwave with the chapters, and therefore, if we can inch the reviews up to number thirty, (I would be really grateful!), then I'll post the next chapter (which I have already written) before Friday.

Colour Me Stunned


	4. Weak

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Pern. Never have done. If I did, then I'd be significantly richer, reocgnised as a mastermind by all, and approaching my mid-eighties...

**Chapter Four**

...

_Ten._

In the sky above Benden Weyr, a gigantic shadow hurtled out of _between. _With an unconscious Ronan clasped to her cavernous chest, Kiroth spread her suddenly leaden wings and tried to beat upwards. Her desperate, heart-rending roar for help split the air as explosively as her entrance from _between._

And help came. Dragons were suddenly spiraling from the ground, and she was vaguely aware of _human _voices calling out to her. The creatures beneath her were struggling to support her as she and Ronan plummeted towards the ground, but their efforts did not seem to be enough to stay the pair's rapid descent towards the ground. Her wings collapsed, causing an even greater weight on the greens, bronzes, browns, and blues who, united, were labouring to help. Suddenly she was aware of golden flashes to her right and left, whose size, although not comparable to her own, was much larger than that of their lesser kin.

_Ramoth! _

_I am helping, Lessa, _a voice said grimly. _My daughters and I will stop the descent._

Kiroth's memory of the next few moments was filled with flashes of vibrant colour, and a feeling of foreboding as they neared the ground.

_Get out of the way! _she snapped, suddenly. _Dragonkin will be killed otherwise!_ At so commanding a tone, many of the lesser dragons obeyed. It was only as the dizzying ground grew ever closer that Ramoth and the other queens did so as well, allowing the dragoness to spread once more her gigantic wingspan in an awe-inspiring effort to slow herself. In the blink of a moment, Kiroth felt the intense agony of the tendons that connected to her shoulder muscles as they strained and tore, and bellowed long and loud as she crashed to the ground, and lay still.

Blackness threatened to claim her. Shuddering between consciousness and the beckoning arms of relief, Kiroth stayed awake long enough to assure that her tiny human was still in the grip of her claw, and was alive. She nuzzled him wearily, with a muzzle similar in length to a young sapling, and allowed her heavy head to thud with a resounding crack against the unforgiving ground.

"But the boy is bleeding, Lessa! I've got to get to him!" The belligerent voice buzzed unpleasantly in Ronan's ears, but it was as though the voices crept to his ears from far away. The five-Turn-old allowed his heavy eyelids to creak open, and blinked blearily at the woman who was making the noise through the giant talons that caged him.

"Mirrim," came the exasperated answer, "you know we can't get past her claws. She won't open them to allow us to get to the child!"

The crowd shuffled uneasily. "Largest queen I ever saw," came the hushed proclamation.

"Largest _dragon _I ever saw," muttered another.

Ronan suddenly realised that his foot was still hurting, and began to wail. _Kee-roff wakey wakey, _he sobbed, his mental tone anguished. _My foot hurts - hurt hurt hurt. _His tears made paths in the grime and blood on his face. His big brown eyes were bloodshot and utterly exhausted. _Sleepy, _he slurred suddenly. Lessa was immediately alert. There was a commotion as they realised he was slipping into unconsciousness, but more importantly, Kiroth began to stir. When she saw the circle of dragons, men, women and children, all crowding around curiously, she gave a great snarl. So, her offspring had betrayed her, to associate with humans. It was odd, though, that she did not recognise them.

One of the humans stepped forward. Her hands were by her sides.

_We need to get to the boy, _she said softly. Her unmanageable greying hair was struggling to escape from a hasty bun, and her height was diminutive. The small female was hardly a worthy opponent and it would be the work of a moment to shut her up and shunt her into her cavernous belly. Kiroth struggled to get upright. When some of the other dragons moved to help her, they were relieved of the notion by the deafening roar of anger that she let roll from her jaws. Kiroth snorted in satisfaction when they moved back. _Wise. _

_I think not, _she replied caustically in answer to the human's statement. Her motions revealed the deep wounds in her belly and sides, and the jagged rent in her haunch. Lessa gasped. As did the others. The biggest queen of the Others bugled in consternation.

"Who did this to you?" the woman asked. Her tone was hesitant - broken at the sight of the bloody lacerations that ripped at the gargantuan queen's wings like cobwebs. Kiroth's eyes bled crimson.

_Who? WHO? You __**dare **__to ask me that, when you pathetic creatures have been killing my kind since my birth? You, who hunted and killed us, and were so terrified of something new? _Her mouth drew back in a contemptuous growl. _How can you even ask that question? _

Ronan had stopped moving. Kiroth was suddenly aware that his ragged breathing was becoming ever shallower, and was also attentive to the leaden weariness that seemed to permeate her bones, trying to drag her into oblivion. Other concerns were swept aside as Kiroth gently opened her claws and lowered her charge to the ground.

"What are you talking about?" enquired a man, whose protective stance behind the woman marked him as her mate. He moved forward now, alarm in a blue gaze surrounded by the vestiges of age.

_Mnementh, what is she talking about? _he asked desperately. Kiroth was alarmed when one of the bronzes answered him.

_I don't know._

_Ramoth? _the woman prompted. The biggest queen of the Others was nonplussed.

_I do not know this queen. I don't think she is one of my daughters. _There was a pregnant pause, and then the queen continued, _She is too big._

_I should imagine so, _Kiroth said. There was a harsh, mistrustful edge to her voice. In that moment, her whirling amber eyes lifted to the horizon, and she suddenly realized that it was sunset. The clouds streaked the sky in a mêlée of riotous orange and crimson. A different time? But how long? She had had no particular place in mind as she ventured _between. _For a dragon, it took endless amounts of concentration to secure a place in their estimates. Time-leaps were out of the question, or at least, for the younger dragons. It had taken her _Turns _to master it, and even then, it was only very short jumps of a day or so.

_I timed it, _she realised. The phrase seemed inexplicably familiar, although she hadn't used it before. Would it explain this devastating lethargy?

_How far? _the woman ventured, with recognition in her eyes.

_You know about this? _Kiroth demanded.

_I was the first to time it, _Lessa said smugly. _Ramoth and I jumped five hundred Turns into the past._

Five hundred? Counting words were beyond her comprehension as a dragon, but it still bespoke a huge passage of time. Kiroth's mind was whirling, but her attention was claimed by Ronan's unnatural stillness. She could smell the weakness in his body like some foul disease, cloying in her nostrils with a scent that was as alarming as it was sweet. It was the smell of death. With chilling clarity, Kiroth realised that he was likely to die without some sort of healing - and that it was far beyond the effort of dragonkind. The belligerent human female whose tone had buzzed uncomfortably around her head stepped forward once more.

"I need to get to the boy," she said firmly.

"Mirrim," Lessa warned as the healer inched towards the irate dragon and her charge. "I don't know that she's safe."

_Safe? _The concept amused Kiroth slightly. Mirrim continued to move closer, only to flinch abruptly when the dragon's mighty jaws snapped close to her head. In an instant, Ramoth was curling her own head around the human, teeth bared in a snarl more dazzling than any other creature on Pern possessed.

_Naranth, get behind me, _the dragon - was she Ramoth? Kiroth wondered - ordered, but then the injured dragon stopped still, her neck suddenly taut in supporting her great head, which was cocked to the side.

_Naranth? _There was a wild look in Kiroth's eyes, shadowed with the amber of suspicion and fear. _M-mother?_ Kiroth shifted uncomfortably, her eyes still wide and her golden hide trembling. Disbelief was etched into every line of her body as her seven eyelids finally came to close. _But I killed you, in the Bloodbath._..

* * *

Sorry it's taken so long to update. Hope this (rather short) chapter didn't disappoint. Review, please!


	5. Mother

Disclaimer: Everything, including inspiration for this story, is owed to Anne McCaffrey. She owns all of it, okay?

* * *

_**Chapter Five**_

There was a buzzing in Kiroth's head as her mind tugged itself back into consciousness, but it didn't distract her from the irritating itch that had made itself present on her nose, right next to her eyes. The niggling presence continued, and with a grunt of annoyance she swiped at it with large claws – only to feel her eyes snap open in shock as a rather reproachful squeak met her ears. Curiously, the queen perused the small, delicate features of the flit that had just launched itself from her nose, wondering at the miniaturised limbs that were a mimicry of her own. _Strange…_ In her own time, there were no small dragons.

"He's not a dragon," an abrasive voice said shortly. The unfamiliar creature before her gave a cry of adoration, and Kiroth could _feel _his delight and warmth at this nondescript human's appearance. The dragon mother gave a great _harrumph _and settled back on her haunches with a look of puzzled dismay on her face as the tiny brown flit winked from existence and then back again, right above the severe visage of a middle-aged human. "That boy you brought with you," the woman went on, "he's not stopped _squirming_ since he woke up. And he _bit _me." The human's disgusted expression at _that _nugget of information provoked a snort of amusement from the gargantuan beast before her… And then Kiroth remembered why she was here.

With a hiss of breath escaping between her jaws, she retreated clumsily on all four legs, her claws scuffing at the dirt where she had been left to wake up. A brief assessment of her body informed her that all her limbs were responding, albeit stiffly, and the lacerations in her wings and tail had been slathered with generous amounts of a pungent-smelling substance. She sniffed at it cautiously, one eye fixed on the human who was frozen, holding the small-creature-not-dragonkin close to her breast, and then sneezed. The reaction was so mundane that the woman standing before her was not able to stop an abrupt shout of laughter loosing itself from her chest. Kiroth studied the human's face with slightly more interest. Despite the sharp features that characterised so many of her kind, and her abrasive voice, Kiroth sensed that this human was not an enemy. Not at the moment, anyway. Not unless she was stupid enough to hurt her dragon child.

_Can you hear me?_ she asked cautiously. Her mind was buzzing again. Something was gripping her thoughts and muddling them, confusing them. Her usual forcefulness was being mitigated. Frustrated, she felt her tail begin to twitch, and struggled to control the urge to attack at once. The instincts that had protected her for nearly one hundred Turns were being blurred. Not all humans were enemies, she struggled to remind herself. Not when they had human things to help Ronan. Ronan who was dragonkin. Ronan who was _hers_. But to add yet more of this pitiful species to that category? She wasn't ready to do _that_. She repeated herself, though her senses recoiled when she tried to touch this strange, alien mind. _Can you hear me?_

The woman's eyes unfocussed slightly, the pupils contracting as though seeing inside of herself. Her quick glace towards the dragon was hesitant. "No, not directly," she said at last. There was a restraint in her manner, a manner rather obviously not used to being tactful and patient. "My flit can hear you, though." There was look of great loss etched into every line of her face.

Kiroth felt rather than saw the images and feelings that pummelled her from the "flit's" direction. _Is that how you communicate? _she asked curiously, allowing her claws to uncurl slightly. Very slightly. "It's how he communicates with me," the human said abruptly. A moment of lucidity entered Kiroth's thoughts. _You are - Mirrim? _she said quizzically, turning her head to one side. Mirrim looked up at the head that hovered twenty feet above her own, and shivered a little. Lessa had told her not to linger after finishing tending to the dragoness' injuries, but she had thought it would be safe to indulge her curiosity just this once. After all, it had been more than a sevenday since the great dragoness had appeared. It had taken them almost that long to clean and bandage her wounds. The others had long since left, stumbling over one another in their haste to be away from this golden, glittering threat to their way of life. This dragon had exactly the same way of tilting her head that Path had had. She winced. _You are lost, _the dragoness said bluntly.

"I know precisely where I am," Mirrim said acerbically, her eyes flashing. "I'm standing right next to you in the ruins of what used to be the Hatching Grounds." She looked at Kiroth pointedly. "Until you _landed_ on it." Her phrasing caused the dragoness to look around, in this calmer state realising that some sort of human architecture had indeed been erected here - but that her landing had demolished most of it. Still, both she and the human knew that wasn't what she had meant.

_I suppose I am - sorry - for landing in this particular place,_ Kiroth rumbled._ If I had been conscious for the proceedings I am sure I would have directed my trajectory elsewhere. _She blinked, and Mirrim fought to keep her mouth from falling agape. Had there been a hint of _sarcasm _in the dragon's tone? _However, your geographical position is not relevant. I am talking of your loss. You look as though a part of you has gone. _

"Yes," the woman said shortly. Mirrim was now thoroughly regretting her curiosity. How could she have been so stupid to remain - alone - with an unknown dragon that talked like a sharding dictionary? Like a human? Her fingers curled into white-knuckled fists, and she passed a shuddering hand over her eyes. Tolly squeaked in distress at the sudden bolt of pain and loss that seared his mistress's soul, chittering anxiously as she turned to go.

_Wait._

But Mirrim did not stop, and it was the work of a moment for Kiroth to snort her irritation and stretch out her sinuous tail to bar her path. Mirrim, not being able to see over the top, whirled around in fury.

"_What?_" Her voice cracked, and suddenly she was meeting a gaze that, although alien and unfamiliar, was at the same time slightly compassionate. Kiroth did not allow her to go for several long moments. At last, she removed the living cage of flesh and skin she had embroiled her captive in, and allowed her to stumble onto the sands.

_Where is my child?_

The demand shocked Mirrim from her pain-filled lethargy. "Your child?" she echoed oddly. She shook her head, as though trying to rid her mind of some memory. "But he's human." Impatient with the awkward communication that using a flit entailed, Kiroth gave an impatient jerk of her muzzle and bridged the gap between their minds.

_I know, _she said irately, and this time Mirrim was able to fully appreciate just how different this dragon was to the ones of her acquaintance. The timbre of her mental voice was wild, and deep, with a strange, foreign roll to the vowels and almost a clicking noise to the sharper consonants. It was uncoloured by human activity, untouched by the most intimate of bonds. This was truly an animal - one with a unique mind that held passageways humming with thoughts alien to humans, all at once primal, instinctive: driven by animalistic cunning. _I am no fit mother for a human, _Kiroth murmured. _But we cannot be separated. _She tilted her head to the side again. _It is a very odd feeling. I do not like it._

"Are you _bonded_?" Mirrim gasped.

_What is 'bonded'? _Kiroth enquired. Her mind provided the unwanted image of a slight, dark-haired girl who couldn't walk scrabbling desperately towards the hot sands, letting her soft skin blister in order to be with _her..._. She flinched away from the memory and bit out savagely, almost desperately: _No, we are not bonded. _The buzzing in her head grew louder. The dragoness' wrenched her eyelids into place to try to block the stream of partly forgotten memories, now quite suddenly lucid.

Mirrim was not taken aback by the dragon's sudden antipathy. She was lost in her own thoughts, unaware of the strange growing tension in the gargantuan beast before her. Abruptly she picked herself up, putting several stray wisps of hair from what had been a rather severe bun behind her neat ears, and dusted herself off. "One more question." Her tone was quizzical, but Kiroth had had enough. There was a familiar itching behind her eyes, edging along her skull and heatedly trying to centre itself in her brain. Straining, struggling with her sudden and unprecedented instinct to shred this human into pieces, she curled her talons into the dust and gouged great rents into the ground.

_No more questions, _she grated. Her eyes shot open, bleeding crimson. _Just bring me the boy!_

* * *

Ronan blinked in the dim light, recognising the room for what it was at once. A rather clumsy child, he had paid numerous visits to one like it in the small fishing Hold he had lived in to be tended for scrapes and grazes, and if the utilitarian-style pallets weren't enough to identify it, the strange instruments and pots of numbweed were enough to convince him. He wrinkled his little nose at the pungent smell.

It was then that he noticed he was not alone. Another small patient occupied one of the beds, her dark eyelashes whispering against a pale cheek. Her small hands fisted the sheets tucked around her, and there was a sheen of sweat on her brow. Ronan frowned, and slipped out of his own covers. He noticed that someone had given him a new smock and leggings, and bandaged his injured foot. Gingerly, he put weight on it, but rather abruptly came to the conclusion that it would be better not to use it at all. Quick tears glistened in his eyes, and his mouth opened to give its instinctive cry of _Kee-roff_... only to realise that he couldn't hear her thoughts.

The girl on the bed stirred fitfully, a small moan escaping her lips. His attention caught, Ronan crawled awkwardly to her pallet and plumped his little round body down on the mattress. He gazed at her curiously, and then slowly, hesitantly, picked up a corner of the covers and peeked underneath it. He gulped, and instantly regretted it.

The child could not be above a Turn or two older than him, being slightly slimmer in stature, her body having lost the roly-poly fat of her younger years. _Mebbe eight_, Ronan thought slowly. He made to touch her shoulder, to wake her, but the uncomfortable memory of how she looked and how much she must hurt stopped him. He whimpered a little as his eyes grew shiny once more. The girl was hurt - a lot. There were great raw burns covering most of her lower torso and thighs, stripping her of skin. The bruises purpling their way along the ankles, calves and knees just added to the horror, and there was a strange, dead look to the flesh. As though it wasn't working anymore. The grimy coal-dust that was indelibly inked into the wounds was going to turn them septic, but Ronan couldn't know that.

There were footsteps coming down the hall.

"I've _told _you, Renna, the girl must be kept in seclusion. Any contact with any infection can and will _kill_ her. Who's idea was it to put her in the same ward as the boy? He woke up for the first time just this morning!"

"But Mistress!" another voice implored. "With that heap of scrap coal collapsed, it was all we could do to find a spare room for her. We're drowning under the weight of casualties. Some of the other healers have patients in their rooms!" There was a silence, but for the smart tap of feet on the floor. The voice continued a little acidly. "I don't think she'll thank us even if she does survive. It's not like she'll ever walk again."

There was a ponderous silence between them, and then they walked into the room. The Mistress was a tall, lithe healer, whose hair was pulled sensibly into a bun at the nape of her neck. The first thing her grey eyes sought was the little boy on the pallet… where he was supposed to be. It was perhaps unfortunate that he had not had the presence of mind to move back to his bed, but he was still stunned by the revelation that this newly-found girl would never walk.

"Why are you sitting there, child?" she snapped, more shocked than angry. "Quickly, get off of her bed!" As she scooped him up rather than assist him to the other side of the room, he fixed his gaze on her.

"Never?" he echoed.

"Never what?" Karryn had never had much patience with children.

"Never walk again?" The mistress suppressed the urge to snap at Renna for speaking so loudly near the door, but reminded herself that they were all on tenterhooks. She shrugged her shoulders, but her gaze flickered to the still form on the other bed. Ronan wasn't finished. "What's her name?" he persisted. His worried face was curiously tender as he bit his lip.

"Mirrol. Her name's Mirrol," a harsh voice supplied from the doorway. Ronan gasped. The figure was a broad-shouldered man, with a white pallor to his face and dry, burning eyes. "She's my daughter," he croaked. Healer Karryn was hurrying over to him, pressing him to sit down "and not to fiddle with that bandage." But he pushed her away, his blazing gaze fixed on the curly-haired five-Turn-old in the bed. "She – wouldn't be – on that sharding bed – if your sharding dragon and you had kept away," he hissed. "My Mirrol –" his voice cracked "wouldn't be – _dying _– if you weren't here. Why don't you go back to your own sharding time, eh, boy?" He took a step towards him, eyes red from weeping, and his legs gave out from under him. There was a sickening crunch as he hit the floor, his eyelids already fluttering with fever, his breathing hoarse. A small voice shrieked in pain.

"_Pati!_"

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_Review replies_: Just wanted to thank everyone who has reviewed so far! I never imagined anyone would actually review this story and like it, but I've had some brilliant directional criticism, and some truly helpful guidance.

_Thanks go to reviewers of Chapter 4:_

**Diglossia**: Ah ha, you so sure? But you're right, there may be…

**Miz636**: Glad you were surprised! I've got a few more surprises up my sleeve, so watch out and tell me what you think!

**lvevilwoman**: You've been reviewing all the way. Thanks so much for the compliment!

**suki53**: There will be info on that coming up in the next chapter. Stay tuned!

**GinnyStar**: You follow my own line of thinking! Thanks for the review!

**ShadowRebirth37**: Yeah, I'm awful at updating. Hope this was worth waiting for, and thanks so much for the compliment!

**Katescats**: Thank you!

**Tsaukpaetra**: Thank you, I will!

_And also everyone who has reviewed so far(!):_

truegold-dragonstar, E-san, Warbender, GinaStar, Cad2u, clara200, kittycass21, H-Maude, astrokath, Fynhavir Leveque, Charmedfanforeva, Silver Eyes in Shadow, ephona, kuuz, Shandril Wielder of Spellfire, ThJaFl, dragon of atlantis, RL Seward, Azurath DragonTongue…

Thanks for taking the time to say what you really thought!

Author's note: You deserve a chapter. Sorry it's taken so long to update! The confrontation between the dragons may be coming soon… So look out!


	6. Lost

I updated! I realised how long I'd left this to rot, and I know it's just not right, especially when you've all been so patient. Hopefully, this tale should be coming to a close pretty quickly now, and I hope it'll be finished in the next two weeks/month or so. Please leave a review to say how you liked it!

_

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_

**Chapter Six**

_She was four. Kiroth had reached_ normal _growth two Turns back when she first rose to mate, glorying in the welding of bodies and minds, still delighted that Hasath had caught her. But like a foolish wherry, she had been forced to cringe and hide from dragonkin and their humans, sliding on her belly like a tunnel snake to remain undiscovered. Most of her first children had hatched from the Shell with the same ferocity that she recalled vividly from her own birth. Some creeled piteously, seeking someone to lead them, to master them. Kiroth wouldn't allow that to happen. They were dispatched without mercy, for those who were weak would never survive this cruel world._

_That first generation of her womb were named Lort, Dreet, Yult, Kast, Birst… She had forgotten the rest, whose hides were blue and green and brown. She wanted bronzes – and gold. Her first daughter was as bloodthirsty as her mother, keening for revenge on those who harried them so mercilessly. In her brief life, they knew her as Fort, whose tough hide failed her when the humans first used lances. They had stabbed her in the belly and hacked off her graceful head, parading it as some grisly trophy. Now, Kiroth's hatred burned as hotly as it had those few Turns ago on the Sands, but it was blacker. Fort had risen to mate barely a sevenday before, and the eggs in her womb had been ready to be laid on one of Southern's hot dry beaches. Her killers had ripped the soft shells apart and let the hatchlings suffocate. _

_Kiroth thought of the young dragonets secreted on the Southern continent and felt a swelling of motherly pride. Her third clutch, Hatching only hours before news of her beloved daughter's murder, were already being taught to obey their instincts by the junior queen, Trist. It seemed that all her own hatchlings had some tenuous link to the humans' meddling; their names still followed a uniform pattern. Kiroth hoped that when Trist was caught in the next year, her young would be further from the possibility of slavery to humans. A gusty breath of air escaped her jaws, and she hung her head slightly. Why didn't the humans leave them alone?_

Kiroth! _Dreet bugled a warning, and Kiroth danced away only just in time, the lance grazing her tail. Fury raced into her belly and pooled there. If only there were some way to char the wooden beams as they flew in the Up! The Up was for dragonkin alone, and such things did not belong there. Her jaws closed around the slender weapon and it splintered, but it was merely the herald for a greater foe. Dragons blinked from _between, _their number outstripping her own egg-brothers and sisters by at least twoscore more. Kiroth shrieked in anger. So, they presumed to try and fight her with dragons, did they? She snapped her orders._

Hasath, take the younger flight of bronzes and engage Igen-kin. Gorth, lead our brothers against Fort and High Reaches. _Her eyes bled crimson. _Senth, bring the flitters about and kill the rest! _She trembled in her anger, her wings glittering as she continued to soar towards the last queen of Benden, and the large brown dived neatly towards the weyrs she had indicated, his entourage strong in blues and greens. The browns flew under their bronze brothers, and the bronzes marshalled the Queen, their deep-chested roars echoing Kiroth's screams. Before the two lines crashed, Kiroth met the senior queen of Benden's bloody gaze, and snarled:_ the oldster is mine.

_The battle began. Naranth bugled her fierce challenge and her rider leant forward in anticipation, her features set in grim anger. The two gleaming bodies crashed together, their necks snaking as they struggled to find purchase beneath the jaw. A savage bite in that soft hide would sever the artery and the dragon would die almost immediately. Their claws raked the other's unprotected belly, and Kiroth found herself becoming frustrated. Naranth was squirming like quicksilver, twisting in her grasp to protect the pathetic human on her back. _

_Her teeth grazed Kiroth's throat, and the younger queen felt a battlefury fall like a mist on her eyes. Anger lent her strength, and she leapt from her dam's grasp and with one swipe unseated the rider. The injured human fell with shock etched onto her face, and with a desperate bellow, Naranth streaked after the falling figure. Kiroth spied her chance. She, too, was diving after the human, but with a different intent. If the senior queen was so strenuously protecting the human,_ _then perhaps to kill it would be enough. _

_The young dragon's talons rent the frail body apart as so much soft earth, and Naranth shrieked, her eyes rolling back in her head. She sagged, and then ripped into _between_ with a vigour that was frightening_. _Kiroth felt her dam's despair just before she became _not. _And then, she was turning back to the battle, but there were so many dying, so many hurting-_

A bloodbath.

_They didn't stop for two days. The corpses of the fallen rotted where they had not been able to enter _between _in time, and death bled its bloodthirsty, hungry way across Pern. By the end, only four of those who had battled remained. They entered wearily into _between_, glad to follow her coordinates, glad that they were still alive. Pern was scarred, but the dragonmother rose to mate barely eight moons later. The clutch was larger, and stronger, than any previous. The dragons made their home in the mountains, where humans could not breathe the thin air, and grew in number. And Kiroth, humming at her daughter's clutch Hatching, felt triumphant. They had won the right to live. _

_They would survive._

* * *

"You are sure?" the voice breathed hoarsely. His companion smirked, but it held no humour, and the glint in his eyes was malicious.

"I am sure," he drawled. "I have spent too many years to fail now, where it matters most." He held out the crate, and watched the broken man before him take it in his hands. Coarse, weathered fingers clasped its metal sides, and its cargo clinked softly. The other hissed in wrathful warning.

"Fool! Break those and you will release something far worse before its time!" He stroked his creation lovingly, and his eyes flickered back to his accomplice's face. "Take care that you feed them to the beasts slowly. Introduce it in small amounts during this sevenday, and then increase it." His eyelids hooded, and the thin mouth curled unpleasantly. "That sharding queen won't know what hit her."

* * *

Chira paced smugly into the antechamber, pausing just enough before greeting the weyrleader that the action was studiously insulting. The new weyrwoman was glowing almost as much as her queen, who was due to rise within the next sevenday. The weyr's bronzes were on tenterhooks, snappish and unusually rough with one another as each lusted after gold. Naranth was young, but her hide was a curious sun-drenched hue, and her sinuous body was almost as long as Ramoth had been.

F'lar didn't seem to register her insult, although his tired grey eyes studied her for a moment before turning back to his companions. The man's erect figure had suddenly drooped after his weyrmate fell to the ravages of Fever, and her shivering, unutterable agony had ended only with eternal sleep. Ramoth had gone _between _the moment her lifemate ceased to struggle in rasping breaths for air, and the piercing wail could almost be _heard _echoing around the weyr even though the dragons had long since stopped their lament. Mnementh had tried to follow his mate into _between_, and only his fear that his own lifemate would succumb to insanity caused his return back into the warmth of life.

"Weyrleader," Chira said coolly. He nodded briefly at her, and turned back to the Mastercraftsman. F'lar said something in a low voice to the small man, and the other nodded, his anxious expression relaxing slightly. Gersan directed a cursory bow at the young woman, muttering "Weyrwoman" as he left. She acknowledged him with pursed lips, and then transferred her attention to the weyrleader. "I want D'kran to head up K'net's old wing," she began. Evidently, of all the things he had prepared himself for, this wasn't one of them. F'lar's glance at the young queenrider was surprised. When he said nothing, she added, slightly belligerently, "Since Piyanth was scored so badly in the last Threadfall to hit Pern, the Games will need fresh blood." Chira crossed her arms, and cocked her head, waiting for an answer. When it didn't come, she gave a sigh, and F'lar gestured for her to remain silent.

"Since this queen dragon appeared from the future, we have no way of knowing _what_ could happen, Chira." His reproach was not direct, but it stung her. "Until I - _we_ - discover her purpose, and a little more of why she was so badly injured, the Games do not seem to be most important." He paused. "D'kran is yet young, Chira, as are you. There is _time _-" and here his voice choked a little at the irony "- for you and D'kran to learn the burdens of leadership soon enough." The young woman's eyes blazed, but she bit her lip to keep from uttering the retort that sprang so readily to her lips. Naranth sent a soothing shaft of love towards her, and Chira took a deep breath. Her shoulders sagged slightly.

"You're right," she said blankly. Nodding stiffly, she turned on her heel and strode from the room, missing the faint look of regret that passed over the other man's face. She _was _young, he reminded himself. He was old enough to be her grandsire, and she had Turned fifteen only that season. She was nervous about the mating flight, as well, though she tried to hide it behind a facade of brashness. He suspected it would be her first, but D'kran was a good man, and his bronze Dranth was clever and surprisingly agile, for his colour. The young man needed only seasoning, as did that impetuous young weyrwoman. He quirked a sad smile, recalling another weyrwoman who had had the tendency to think later, and speak first. Mnementh crooned softly in longing, but his reply echoed the same as always.

_Not yet._

* * *

I know that we haven't seen any of Ronan this chapter. There's still quite a portion to go for this story, so he'll be coming back, don't worry! Please leave a review, and I'll update as quickly as possible. =)

Rue


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